


Forgiveness

by seekeronthepath



Series: Tower Tales [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: #JewishComicsDay, Gen, Repentance, Rosh HaShana | Jewish New Year, aftermath of the Avengers, interfaith tolerance, say no to HYDRA cap, tashlich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 14:29:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7056340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekeronthepath/pseuds/seekeronthepath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of New York, it took Clint a long time to forgive himself. That path began by the side of the East River, throwing bread into the water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> This fits into my Tower Tales universe, but can be read independently if you want.

When Clint Barton arrived at SHIELD Medical after the Battle of New York, he was exhausted, dehydrated, aching in twenty-seven places, bleeding in another fourteen, and the only thing he knew for sure was that it would be a long time before SHIELD let him in the field again.

Then he was told that Phil had been killed during the infiltration of the Helicarrier.

When Clint Barton left SHIELD Medical (Captain America having apparently argued that SHIELD had so many fires to put out that a more in-depth evaluation of Clint could and should be put off to a later date), he’d been wrapped and bandaged just about everywhere, given a couple of pints of saline and some painkillers, and he was sure of one additional fact: the only person he’d known for more than a day who would have forgiven him was dead.

\-----

He walked, not knowing where or why, except that he needed to be outside, and he didn’t want to see the destruction he’d wrought on Midtown. When he realised he was halfway to his and Phil’s flat in Bed-Stuy, he nearly cried. Instead, he changed direction abruptly, turning south, towards Brooklyn Bridge. Having a destination was comforting, a little. It kept him going, even when his ankle began to complain and his steady stride gradually turned into a limp. When he got there, though, he realised that walking across the bridge – like he and Phil had done so many times…no. Not today. He turned aside, and went down to the banks of the river.

It was…kind of peaceful, watching the water. Puzzling out the wind from the patterns of waves on the surface. It was something to focus on, something to keep at bay the memories that were bleeding back into his conscious mind. He didn’t really know how long he’d been there when the family showed up. He registered the breadcrumbs attracting ducks and fish before he really paid any attention to the movement in his peripherals.

 

“Most people go to Central Park to feed the ducks,” he commented.  “Though I guess Central Park’s not a top tourist destination today.”

“Not for tashlich, silly,” he heard a kid’s voice reply, and he looked up, seeing a little girl (five or so), a slightly older boy, and a couple of adults in formal clothes, the boy and the father (he guessed) wearing yarmulkes.

“Miriam,” the mother scolded. “Don’t be rude.” She looked up at Clint with an apologetic smile. “Are we bothering you?”

Clint shook his head, trying to smile. “No, it’s fine,” he reassured them. “Just…tough day. You go ahead with your…tasslick?”

“Tashlich,” the little boy corrected him. “We’re throwing bread into the water so it takes our sins away for Rosh Hashanah.”

“Huh.” Clint thought about the last couple of days, about the bruises he’d seen on Nat’s skin, about Phil bleeding out on the Helicarrier. “I don’t suppose you’ve got some breadcrumbs I could throw, do you?

"You can have some of mine," the girl piped up. "Have you been bad?"

The father looked Clint over and held out his hand. "I'm Ben Heller, this is my wife Sarah, and my kids David and Miriam. We haven’t actually started properly; the kids were just being enthusiastic. You're welcome to join us, if you like."

"Nice to meet you," Clint replied, shaking his hand. "Clint. It's pretty obvious I'm not Jewish, I guess - is that an issue?"

Sarah shook her head. "There's nothing wrong with a non-Jew repenting with us. You're welcome to join in."

“Here.” Miriam offered him a ziploc bag full of bread crumbs. “You can have some of mine.”

Clint smiled at her, though the expression felt stiff on his face. “Thank you,” he said quietly, opening the bag and pouring a little into his palm. “That’s very kind of you.”

 

“Okay - is everybody ready?” Ben asked.

“Yes, Dad,” David and Miriam chorused.

“Alright, here we go,” Ben replied. “Today we come to this body of water to perform the ceremony of tashlich, symbolically ‘casting away’ all the bad things we have done so we can purify our heart and soul and start fresh for the new year, like Ezekiel says: ‘Cast away from yourselves all your transgressions, and create within yourselves a new heart and a new spirit’.”

Sarah took up the thread, a soft smile on her face. “Here I am again, ready to let go of my mistakes,” she recited. “Help me to release myself from all the ways I’ve missed the mark.”

Clint almost laughed at the irony of it, but then, he had missed the mark, hadn’t he? He’d hurt his allies, and helped his enemies. He’d been complicit in the deaths of innocents, and of friends, and of Phil.

“Help me to stop carrying the karmic baggage of my poor choices,” Sarah went on. “As I cast this bread upon the waters, lift my troubles off my shoulders. Help me to know that last year is over, washed away like crumbs in the current. Open my heart to blessing and gratitude. Renew my soul as the dew renews the grasses.”

Renewal. It was a nice thought. Not forgetting the past, exactly, but…starting fresh.

“And we say together…” Sarah prompted, and the family replied:

“Amen.”

They stood quietly for a while, scattering bread crumbs on the surface of the water, the kids obviously thinking hard. It was meditative, watching the bread fall, and as Clint cast out his own meagre palmful of crumbs, he found himself thinking not just of his actions over the past few days, or even the violence he inflicted as part of his work, but of the little lies and resentments and thoughtlessness of his daily life. He didn’t want to carry it with him anymore. And maybe this palmful of breadcrumbs wasn’t enough for everything that had happened since L…since His arrival, but maybe it could be a start.

Ben began to recite in Hebrew, and the foreign language wove itself in with Clint’s thoughts like music. “Mi el kamocha, noseh avon ve’over al pasha lish’erit nachalato? Lo hechezik la’ad apo ki chafetz chesed hu. Yashuv yerachamenu, yichbosh avonoteinu, vetashlich bimtzulot yam kol chatotam. Titen emet leYa’akov, chesed le’Avraham, asher nishba’ta la’avoteinu mimei kedem.”

 

The group stood in silence for a while after Ben finished speaking – as long as a five-year old could stay solemn. She tugged on Sarah’s dress and whispered loudly, “Can we go have more honey cake now?”

Clint suppressed a laugh, his eyes crinkling with a much more genuine smile. “Far be it from me to keep you from your honey cake,” he said. “Thank you for letting me join in, though.”

“Like Sarah said, you’re welcome,” Ben replied. “And yes, Miriam, you can have some more honey cake. But only one slice, alright? You’ll spoil your dinner.”

Miriam pouted.

“We’d better go,” Sarah said, smiling. “You’ve got somewhere to stay tonight?”

Clint blinked, realising that, with the way he looked, it was a reasonable assumption that either his work or his home had been destroyed by the battle in Midtown. “Yeah, I’m…fine,” he replied. One way or another, he’d have a bed to sleep in.

“All right then,” she said firmly. “Don’t be afraid to ask for help, alright? Even in New York, there’s plenty of people who will help you if you need it. Shanah Tovah, Clint – have a good year.”

“Shanah Tovah,” he repeated, a little clumsily. “You too. And thank you again.”

 

They left, and Clint stayed, watching the water, and the sky. He wasn’t looking forward to going back to SHIELD. Or to his apartment. And getting to either one of them would be unpleasant on his now sharply aching ankle. He sighed. Sarah had told him to ask for help… He pulled out his phone. Natasha might not have forgiveness for him – she didn’t really feel comfortable with the concept – but she was his friend, his best and maybe only friend now living. “Hi Tasha,” he said roughly when she picked up. “I need a lift. And maybe a place to sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work is written for #jewishcomicsday, a fandom response to the horrifying anti-Semitism Marvel has displayed in the last couple of weeks. I’ve done my best with the research, but I’m not Jewish, so if I’ve made a mistake here (that can’t be accounted for by differing customs within the Jewish community), please let me know so I can fix it. 
> 
> If you, like me, are angry at Marvel for their betrayal of Captain America, his audience, and the Jewish community, please tell them so by taking the comic off your pull list and pausing any purchases of Captain America merchandise. They need to hear that this is not okay. 
> 
> I look forward, as always, to any comments and kudos you want to send my way.


End file.
